How the Belgian Princess Became an English Queen
by pale-jonquil
Summary: Whenever she visits, the king holds games and tournaments in her honor. Whenever she visits, the English knight always wins. Courtly love AU with jousting!knight!England and princess!Belgium.


Hello, friends! This courtly love AU is based off a picture the very talented vinnie2757 drew over on Tumblr. Check it out! You can get to it by clicking on her art tag. : D Please enjoy!

* * *

**How the Belgian Princess Became an English Queen**

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**

The Portuguese prince is said to be nigh invincible with a lance, so when the English knight defeats him, it takes everyone by surprise.

He guides his horse to the royal box, and the visiting Belgian princess smiles down at him.

"Well done, Sir Knight!" she happily exclaims.

He lifts the visor of his helmet, only revealing his eyes to her — and what striking eyes he has, she thinks, such a beautiful, vibrant shade of green! They remind her of the stained glass windows of the chapel in her castle back home.

"You have more than earned your reward," she continues. "What would you ask of me?"

The knight says nothing. His horse fidgets and kicks up its hooves beneath him, but the knight's wide, wondering eyes never leave her face.

The princess smiles shyly, delightedly surprised to be the object of such devout attention. She plucks a rose from the garland decorating the edge of the royal box and hands it to him.

"I hope this will suffice," she says. "I believe this is the first time I've seen you on the field, Sir Knight, but I hope it isn't the last."

As the knight takes the rose and looks at it, the king — _uncle,_ the princess calls him — calls her back to his side, and when the knight glances back up, she's gone.

* * *

The king and the princess are not actual blood relations, but he adores her and dotes on her as though they were. When she was but a child, she honestly believed every adult around her was either an aunt or an uncle, and the king, who had no daughters of his own, was instantly charmed.

Whenever she visits, he holds games and tournaments in her honor.

Whenever she visits, the English knight always wins.

* * *

After he unhorses the French duke, she leans over the parapet and hands him her handkerchief.

"Hello again," she says, smiling.

He only stares at her.

"Are you afraid of me, Sir Knight, or have I offended you in some way?"

He shakes his head.

"Then why do you never speak to me? I would very much like to hear your voice one day. The next time you win — and I know you'll win again, because I can see you are valiant and brave — I want you to tell me your name."

She thinks she sees him blushing behind the safety of his helmet, but she can't be sure.

* * *

The princess crosses her arms as she waits, a playful grin on her face. She raises her eyebrows expectantly at the knight, who has just defeated a Polish knight.

"Arthur," he blurts out.

"Arthur? Like the legendary king?"

"Not to hear my mother speak of me," the knight says after a moment. "She says she almost named me Mordred, after the difficult labor I gave her."

She throws her head back and laughs, loud and merry, and he laughs a little as well.

"Arthur," she murmurs, looking him up and down appreciatively. "I like your name, and I think it suits you very well. And now that I have what I want, Sir Arthur, you may ask of me anything you wish for your reward."

"I already have it, my Lady."

She tilts her head to the side, confused. "You do?"

"Aye. Hearing you say my name is reward enough."

* * *

"You are the most stubborn knight I've ever seen!" she teases after he defeats the Spanish prince. "You are absolutely determined to have every noble in Europe lying at your feet, aren't you?"

"I couldn't care less about that, my Lady."

"If you're not in it for the thrill of victory, then what reason do you have to compete in the games at all?"

"So that I may gaze upon your lovely face, if only for a moment."

No one has ever made her heart flutter before. It's frightening and pleasurable all at once, she realizes.

"Gallantry will get you nowhere," she gently scolds.

"Then may I ask for my reward?"

She places her hands on her hips. "That depends on what you ask for."

"Would the princess be so kind as to tell me her name?"

She searches his eyes, those _captivating_ green eyes, and a wide smile spreads across her face.

"Come closer, Sir Arthur."

He does so, guiding his horse as close to the royal box as she will go, and stands up in his stirrups. The princess leans over the parapet, rests her head beside his, and whispers her name to him.

She pulls away and looks at him, at the way his eyes are crinkling behind his helmet, and she knows he's smiling.

He snaps his visor shut and bows to her before galloping away, and perhaps she was wrong — perhaps gallantry might get him somewhere after all.

* * *

"Forgive me if I go too far, my Lady, but…"

She ties a silk ribbon around his wrist, his reward for unhorsing the German baron.

"It's alright — you can speak freely around me."

"It's only…you do not seem like your usual self today."

She smiles a little, but the sad look doesn't leave her eyes.

"Can I burden you with a secret?"

"'Twould be no burden, my Lady."

"It's just that — "

He raises his eyebrows encouragingly at her.

"I just feel so terribly _lonely_ sometimes," she sighs. "And every day, something happens to remind me of how little control I have over my own life, how I am rarely ever free to make my own choices."

"I am sorry — truly."

That sincere look in his kind eyes — it makes her heart twist and turn in her chest, and she has to take a deep breath to steady herself.

"Oh, don't be sorry," she says, recovering some of her natural cheer. _"I'm_ sorry I brought it up in the first place. None of this is anything new amongst princesses, anyway. I should just be thankful I have a warm bed to sleep in every night and clean clothes to wear and food in my belly, mmm? But you should know…"

Her hand lingers over the metal of his gauntlet, over his hidden fingers.

"Sometimes, I am happiest when I am with you. I always look forward to seeing you win and claim your reward, so please don't ever disappoint me by losing. I'm counting on you, Sir Arthur."

She smiles softly at him then, unaware that she need only say the word, and he'd gladly travel into the pits of Hell itself.

* * *

The day he defeats the captain of the Swiss guard, she throws up her hands in mock exasperation.

"What am I to do with you, Sir Arthur?" she asks. "I am running out of trinkets to reward you with, and stand before you empty-handed. You are simply too skilled at jousting for your own — "

"A kiss."

She blinks. "What?"

He removes his helmet, his damp, unruly blond hair standing in odd directions.

"A kiss, my Lady."

It's the first time she's ever seen his face. She's often imagined what he might look like behind his helmet, and now she knows — his eyes are the color of the stained glass windows in the chapel, and he has the face of a saint to match.

She leans over the low wall of the royal box and grins down at him.

"Come closer, Sir Arthur, and you shall have your kiss."

He immediately stands up in his stirrups, raises his face to meet hers —

But she quickly snatches his helm out of his hands and pulls away. He watches helplessly as she presses her lips to the part of his helmet that covers his cheek.

She drops the helmet when she's finished, and he very nearly misses it as he reaches out to catch it.

"You're welcome," she says, giving him a saucy wink.

Arthur watches her return to her seat next to the king with a lopsided grin on his face.

* * *

Arthur only loses once, and to add insult to injury, he lost to that foppish Austrian count.

He guides his horse over to the royal box, where the princess is waiting for him, like always.

He removes his helmet and bows his head in shame.

"I have no intention of claiming a reward I did not earn, my Lady," he says. "I only wish to give you an explanation for my poor performance today."

"Oh, Sir Arthur," she breathes, "there's no need."

He glances up at her. "No, I — I want to tell you. I want you to know."

She nods. "I'd be glad to hear it, then."

"The first time we met, you mentioned you had never seen me before. The reason why is I had just returned from fighting in the Holy Land. I returned home, but my eldest brother stayed behind. Try as I might, I could not convince him to return home with me."

He goes silent and clenches his jaw.

"There was a messenger this morning. My — my brother is dead, my Lady."

She gasps and covers her mouth with her hand.

"He and his men were ambushed in Acre, and — he didn't — he's — "

He removes one of his gauntlets and rubs his eye with the heel of his hand.

"I was _determined_ to win this fight for him," he angrily says, spitting out the words, "and for you as well. But I couldn't. And now I've failed you both, and I'm so — so bloody _ashamed_ of myself."

The princess watches as he takes one deep breath after another, trying to calm himself, and her heart aches for him.

She leans over the low wall of the royal box and gently lifts his chin with her fingers. His green eyes glisten with unshed tears.

"You have _nothing_ to be ashamed of, Sir Arthur," she softly says. "You always fight splendidly, and today was no different. If your brother was anything at all like you, I'm sure he was one of the bravest and noblest of all the crusaders."

She cups his cheek with her hand, and he leans into her touch, placing his hand over hers. His eyebrows furrow together, and he swallows thickly.

"Thank you," he says, brokenly.

"I am so, _so_ sorry. I wish there was something I could do for you."

He kisses the palm of her hand, and then gives her a weak smile.

"Merely being in your presence is enough to cheer me, my Lady."

* * *

The king has noticed his niece seems to have caught the attention of the young English knight, and he seems to be a favorite with her as well.

The king decides the next time she visits, he will hold an archery contest instead of the usual jousting tournament. If the green-eyed knight is as adept with a bow and arrow as his reputation would have everyone believe, he will easily win the prize — the golden arrow his niece will present to him on the field herself.

After Arthur beats the Hungarian woman (who snuck into the contest by binding her breasts and gathering her hair inside a hood), he and the princess talk — _really_ talk, face to face, just like any other two young lovers in the kingdom. They smile and laugh; she teases him and he rubs the back of his neck with his hand.

He even gives her an impromptu archery lesson, gently guiding her arms and correcting her posture as she aims. He grumbles that it's merely beginner's luck when she lands a perfect bullseye, so when she grabs a second arrow and takes aim, his arms go around her again.

Just as she's about to let the arrow fly, he blows into her ear. It startles her and she misses the target completely.

She picks up a third arrow, threatens to make _him_ her next target, and they end up chasing each other across the field.

The king watches from the royal box, chuckling to himself.

* * *

It's been quite some time since the princess' last visit to the kingdom, so when Arthur hears she's finally arrived, he goes positively giddy at the thought of seeing her again.

He easily defeats the two Italian brothers in the joust, but when he goes to see the princess for his reward, she's not there.

"Where is she, Your Majesty?" he calls up to the king. "Where is the princess?"

The king sighs and shakes his head. "I'm afraid the princess is…not well."

"Not well?" Arthur's horse fidgets, and he reins her in. "She's not hurt or sick? Is there anything she needs? Is there something I can — "

"No, my boy, she's physically fine. Just — well — " The king shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "She could use a friend, is all."

"Please tell me what has happened," Arthur pleads. "Please, I must know."

"It's not my place to say, lad, but you can ask her yourself at the banquet tonight, if you like."

* * *

Arthur has never attended a royal banquet, but some of the day's other competitors are there, so he doesn't completely feel like an intruder.

He eventually finds the princess standing by one of the large windows overlooking the garden, though not without some difficulty. Her hair usually hangs down her back in a long, elegant braid, but tonight she's hiding behind a headdress and a veil.

"My Lady?"

She turns, and looks at him with wide eyes.

"Sir Arthur!" she exclaims. "I — I was not expecting to see you tonight."

He bows to her. "Forgive me. I did not mean to intrude upon your solitude."

"No, it's fine," she says, smiling warmly at him. "I had wanted to be alone, but I would not mind your company." She lowers her gaze. "I often think that, you know. When I'm lonely, I catch myself thinking, _I wish he were here with me._ Do you find that odd?"

"Not in the slightest, for I often think the same thing myself about you."

There's an awkward silence then, as Arthur debates how wise it would be to reach out and take her hand.

Instead, he keeps his hands to himself and clears his throat. "I missed you at the tournament today."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there. I was so glad to hear that you'd won, though."

"I don't know how glorious a triumph it was, as those two Italians basically gave up halfway through."

They laugh quietly together, and Arthur takes a step closer to her.

"The king said there was something wrong," he whispers, "though he wouldn't say what, exactly. You — you look well, though."

_But then,_ he thinks,_ I always think you look well. More than well, actually — charming, lovely, beautiful._

"I — " The princess looks around, and then takes his hand. "Come with me," she says, grabbing her skirts and leading him out of the banquet hall.

She takes him up a flight of stairs, into an empty room. White sheets are draped over the furniture, and dust has collected on the floor. Nothing and no one seems to have disturbed the room for years, save for the pale moonlight cascading through the window.

"My Lady — what are we — "

"This is why I didn't come today," she says, removing the veil from her face. Arthur silently watches as she removes her headdress as well, and is shocked to see her long hair has been cut short — where it once fell to the small of her back, it now only brushes her shoulders.

_Oh, my poor darling,_ he wants to say, but catches himself.

"What happened?" he murmurs as he reaches out to tangle his fingers in her hair, as soft as he's imagined it might be.

She lets out a ragged breath, and tears roll down her cheeks.

"It's because I defied my father!" she sobs. "He wants me to marry the Danish prince, but I refused. I want, more than _anything,_ to marry someone who makes me laugh, someone who is kind and respects me, someone — someone — "

_Someone like you,_ she suddenly thinks, and blushes furiously.

"If I ever do marry," she hurries on, "I want it to be for _love._ I don't want to marry someone I don't know, and I certainly don't want to marry someone only because it's what's most convenient for my father."

Arthur's hands go from stroking her hair to holding her face.

"He called me selfish, and then he cut my hair to shame me. He said that if I refused to marry the man _he_ picked for me, then he'd make it to where _no_ man would want me."

"That's not true," Arthur says before he can stop himself, his thumbs brushing the tears from her face. "There _is_ a man who wants you — "

"And now I'm too ashamed and embarrassed to be seen in public, especially without my headdress to cover what's left of my hair, and — and I ran away and came here because your king isn't even my true family, but he treats me better than my _real_ father does, and — "

_And I wanted so badly to see you._

" — and I wouldn't be surprised if my father disowned me after this. I don't feel as if I could ever go home again, and now I — I don't know what I'm going to do!"

She covers her face with her hands as she cries, and Arthur brings her head to rest against his chest, right over his heart.

"Shall I fight the Danish prince for you, my Lady?" he murmurs, stroking her hair.

Despite everything, she laughs, and he loves the sound of it, wants nothing more than to hear it every day for the rest of his life. Something inside his soul cries out then, tells him to never let her go, to ask her to run away with him, tell her he'd fight her father if he had to, just so she could marry whomever she pleased — even if it wasn't him.

But he forces himself to put an end to these thoughts and gently pushes her away from him, for she's a princess, and he is but a humble knight.

He digs in the pocket of his trousers and pulls out a handkerchief. She recognizes it as her own — the one she gave him when he defeated the French duke.

"Please don't cry," he says as he dries her eyes with it. "You are beautiful, my Lady, inside and out, and the length of your hair could never change that. If anyone deserves to be happy — truly, incandescently happy — it's you."

From the breast pocket of his doublet, he removes the ribbon she tied around his wrist the day he bested the German baron. He moves to stand behind her and, with trembling hands, gathers her hair and ties the ribbon around it.

But, he doesn't quite like the look of it, he decides — that, and he never wants to stop trailing his fingers through her hair — so he loops it around her head as a hairband, tying a bow at the nape of her neck.

"There," he says, coming back to stand in front of her. "In truth, this shorter hair looks quite becoming on you."

She's stopped crying, and he bends to look at her face, raising his eyebrows for her reaction.

"You kept those?" she asks, her skin still tingling from his touch.

"Well — yes," he admits, looking away, his cheeks turning pink. "I kept them with me — _on_ me — always."

She's never been happier or sadder in her entire life.

* * *

The next time the princess visits, the king goes to her room shortly before they are to leave for the tournament.

"Niece," he says, looking at her reflection in the vanity mirror, "I've seen the way that knight looks at you, and, more importantly, I've seen the way _you_ look at _him."_

"Uncle — "

"You cannot marry the Danish prince. He's rich and handsome, to be sure, but I know you, and I know that he will not make you happy."

"Oh, Uncle," she sighs, tying the ribbon in her short hair. "I know you mean well, but…I don't really see any alternatives for myself. I am completely dependent on my father. If I don't marry the prince, he will disown me."

"I shall take you in, then. You shall become a princess of my court, and, if you wish to marry, you shall be free to marry whomever you please."

She smiles sadly. "My father would declare war in a heartbeat if you or any other royal court in Europe took me in, and I wouldn't dream of putting your or anyone else's people through that."

She rises and takes both his hands in hers.

"Please don't worry about me," she says. "At the very least, the Danish prince will make sure I have a warm bed to sleep in, clean clothes to wear, and food in my stomach."

* * *

Arthur rides out to the royal box before the competition begins and removes his helmet.

"My Lady!"

She gives the king a questioning look as she goes to stand at the parapet, but he only shakes his head, as confused as she.

"Yes?" she calls down to Arthur.

"Marry me."

Her eyes widen, and for a breathless moment, she's sure her heart stops. (Such a frightening, pleasurable feeling.)

"If this is your idea of a _joke,_ Sir Arthur, I am not laughing."

"'Tis no joke, my Lady, I assure you. I've never been more serious about anything in my life."

She clenches her fists, and wants to scream at the unbearable unfairness of it all.

"Are you out of your mind?" she angrily hisses. "You cannot_ possibly_ ask that of me."

"Marry me," he repeats, gazing adoringly up at her. "I shall ask for no other reward today than your hand in holy matrimony."

As she stares at him, she realizes no one has ever looked at her the way he does — so tenderly, so devotedly. She knows it would be the most wonderful feeling in the world to wake up to that look every morning, knows it would be the sweetest promise to fall asleep beneath it every night.

"Fine," she eventually huffs, crossing her arms. "I will marry you — "

"Truly?" Arthur asks, his entire face lighting up.

" — on one condition."

"Anything," Arthur quickly promises. "Whatever it is, I swear to you I shall do it."

"Your opponent today is the crown prince of the Netherlands."

"I am not at all afraid of him, my Lady."

"I don't doubt it. But I will only marry you if you are able to bring me back his signet ring."

Arthur's horse fusses impatiently under him, and as he tries to rein her in, he catches a glimpse of the Dutch prince as he prepares for the match. They say he's the tallest man in Europe, if not the entire world, and even from the opposite side of the field, Arthur's blood runs cold from the formidable air he carries about him.

"My Lady — "

"You are so foolish, Arthur," she reproaches him, her voice breaking, "so utterly, _completely_ foolish, and you do not know what you are asking."

She returns to her seat, and the king reaches out to rub her shoulder as she holds her face in her hands.

She can hear Arthur's horse riding out to meet the Dutch prince, can hear the trumpets heralding the start of the match. She leaps up from her seat, unwilling to sit any longer and daydream of things that can never be, of a man she never expected to care so much for.

Just as she is about to step out of the royal box, she hears the crowd gasp. Turning, she looks out onto the field, and sees that Arthur has been unhorsed. He lies on the field, unmoving.

"Oh, God, no — _Arthur!"_ she cries out, her heart panicking.

But then he sluggishly draws up his knees, moves his arms, and she exhales the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Gingerly, he gathers himself up off the ground.

And then he's storming across the field, yanking off pieces of his armor as he advances upon the Dutch prince, still seated upon his horse. In one swift movement, Arthur comes up to him and drags him out of his saddle. The prince falls heavily to the ground, and the crowd gasps again.

Stunned, the prince lies motionless for a few moments before gathering his wits about him and rising to his feet. He waves off three of his countrymen as they move forward, intending to restrain Arthur — or worse — and begins discarding his own armor. With a devil-may-care flick of his wrist, he invites Arthur to come forward and finish what he started.

There is a great commotion amongst the crowd as everyone watches them fight. Tall and well-built the crown prince of the Netherlands may be, but Arthur is quick and scrappy, his body attuned to combat after years of fighting in the Holy Land. Fists fly, and each man is knocked off his feet, only to somehow rise up again and continue fighting.

"Arthur, what are you _doing?"_ the princess cries out.

"Earning my reward!" he shouts back, ducking and neatly missing a blow meant for his jaw.

"You're going to get yourself killed!"

"I'll be damned if I lose you to some sodding Danish prince — or anyone else, for that matter!"

Though both are bloodied and weary, the fight continues — the Dutch prince has his pride, and Arthur's hopelessly, ardently in love.

Arthur doubles over and falls to his knees when the Dutch prince gives him a heavy kick in the gut. Panting, the prince wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Arthur lifts his head and looks on as he walks away.

And then, with one last desperate surge of energy, Arthur leaps to his feet and rushes toward the prince. Arthur jumps on his back, grabbing him roughly about his neck, and sends the both of them toppling to the ground.

Straddling the prince, Arthur securely holds one of his hands behind his back. The other he twists, lifts up, and to the amusement of the crowd, Arthur clamps down on it with his teeth. With a strangled cry, the exhausted prince finally stops struggling and goes limp in defeat.

Arthur easily pulls the signet ring from the prince's finger. He looks up at the princess, his lopsided grin shining through all the dirt and blood and sweat on his face.

His gait slower than usual but no less determined, Arthur makes his way across the field to the royal box. Climbing up the side of it, he eventually hoists himself up and over the low wall.

He and the princess stare at each other.

"Marry me, my Lady," he says, holding out the ring to her. "My sweetest, dearest, _darling _girl — marry me."

The princess rushes over to him and gently cradles his face in her hands.

"You idiot," she whispers, tears pooling in her eyes, "you brave, stubborn, _wonderful_ idiot."

"_You_ are why God called me home from the Crusades, my Lady," he tells her. "Even if I should live for a thousand years, I would never find another woman like you. I don't have much to recommend me — I'm nothing more than the youngest son of a poor farmer — but I could make you happy, if you'd let me."

A thoughtful look dawns upon his face.

"Do you know anything about chickens?"

She shakes her head.

"Sheep? Goats?"

"No, not a thing."

"Pigs? Cattle?"

"I'm afraid not."

He grins. "You're entirely useless, aren't you, my Lady?"

"Completely, _embarrassingly_ useless," she agrees, giggling.

"No matter, then — Lord knows there are farms enough in England as it is. What do you say? Shall we go adventuring together instead?"

"And just where shall we go adventuring, Sir Knight?"

"Anywhere, so long as we are together."

He presses the ring into her hand and closes her fingers around it.

"No prince could ever love you or cherish you as much as I," he whispers, looking at her with those green eyes she's come to love, the green eyes she can't live without. "Marry me, marry me, _marry me…"_

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes!"

She brushes the hair from his eyes and rests her forehead against his, not sparing a single thought for her father. She isn't his princess anymore, and hasn't been for a long time — she's been Arthur's queen all along.

"Oh, _Arthur,"_ she breathes, the happiest she's ever been in her life. "For the rest of our lives, let's be each other's reward."

_The End_


End file.
